


A Novice Way To Go About It

by mwc



Series: Nine Things To Do Today [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 03:47:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19076851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mwc/pseuds/mwc
Summary: The day-to-day relationship of a certain pair of brooding Assassins. Because who isn't curious to see what they do to try to be romantic, or when they get on each other's nerves? Or when Malik tries to make Altaïr confront his fear of water?Basically Who Does What prompts that I can't remember the source of. Really short, slice-of-life chapters





	1. Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who tries to make the other breakfast,  
> And who tries to swallow it down for the sake of their lover

Often he wakes up alone in the mornings, as he does today. The small house would hold silence in the wake of the other’s disappearance. Work calls for him too early in the morning... 

Sitting up, the dark-haired man pulls on his clothes. First, dark pants, then a crisp white button up shirt. He has grown adept at fastening each of the buttons with one hand, considering it’s all he has to use. Folding the left sleeve in half, he pins the cuff to where it meets with what’s left of his left upper arm. He pulls on a brown vest after. With the winter weather approaching, he decides to wear his favourite navy blue suit jacket. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Malik heads to the kitchen...

Only to be taken aback by the revolting and utter destruction of his kitchen. He swears he just cleaned it. Picking up a few of the used pans and setting them at the sink, he wonders just what could’ve possibly assaulted his kitchen like this.

It is then that he notices a quickly scrawled note, tucked under a plate at the dining table. Malik instantly recognizes the author of the note. Nearly illegible handwriting has always been characteristic of Altaïr.

"Will clean when I return. Can’t be late. Be home before dinner." As an afterthought, "I promise" is added, followed by a swift signature of "A."

Malik rolls his eyes, looking upon the contents of the plate. Nothing appears burnt, nothing spoiled, nothing underdone. Just what _it_ is, however, is lost on the one-armed man. Lifting a bite to his lips, Malik’s nose scrunches up in distaste. Nevertheless, he sits himself down. 

He can’t waste more food than what has been used already. And besides, the breakfast made by the novice isn’t entirely inedible. Just completely horrific.


	2. Radio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who tries to sing along to the car radio,  
> And who tries to avoid the embarrassment in the passenger seat

Groans are drowned out by blaring music. Leave it to the ridiculous, idiotic, uncultured _novice_ to control the stereo. Gritting his teeth, Malik hides his face in his hand.

From under his hood, Altaïr tosses a wicked smirk. He cranks up the radio, testing the limits of the car speakers. Well aware of Malik’s growing discomfort, he pushes it even further. Slowing down at a red light, Altaïr positions the car right in the middle of traffic.

And to Malik’s horror, the windows slide down.

Grating screaming death metal turned all the way on full volume causes other drivers to avoid eye contact. Some go as far as to slink a little, or offset their position by pulling forward. One man even goes so far as to curse at him just as loudly as the screeching guitar.

"Altaïr Ibn-La’Ahad I swear to _Allah_ I am breaking up with you," Malik growls to himself. The vibrating air holds taunt with a sudden strain of tension between the driver and passenger. Though he knows Altaïr couldn’t have possibly heard him, Malik can’t help but notice the windows rolling up as the car starts forward. Speakers stop rumbling under the extreme pressure. Metal guitars and their singers stop screaming bloody murder. And the radio switches to Malik’s preferred station.


	3. Vacation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who tries to have a relaxing day on the beach,  
> And who has to treat the other's inevitable sunburns

Altaïr hates water.

Hates it worse than the fires burning in hell. Loathes it. _Abhors_ it. The mere thought of any body of water larger than a sink sets him on edge. Anything deeper than his ankles and he won’t go near it. Let alone the fact that his shoes and feet would be wet, and to the prissy "Queen Altaïr," it is too much.

Altaïr hates water, and Malik is too well aware of it.

Most of the time, Malik doesn’t approach the subject. What kind of boyfriend would he be if he threatened to drown Altaïr all the time? Most see his fear as stemming from his inability to swim. Though while this is true, and a major contributing factor, it is far from the main reason.

 _Nevermind that,_ Malik shakes his head, focusing on the road ahead of him. Adjusting his grip on the steering wheel, Malik evasively swerves to avoid a t-bone collision. Damn drivers. He has heard from others that this state is the worst when it comes to driving. But where else could they live so close to the beach and yet still high and dry? A small smirk tugs at his lips.

Altaïr notices the smug look from the corner of his eye. Suddenly wary, he checks the rest of Malik’s body language, trying to decipher the enigmatic communication. Relaxed now that the rogue is off the road, the dark-haired man seems content with driving on the highway, destination set in his mind. Of which, Malik won’t tell. He only makes sarcastic quips such as "a day trip to Alaska" or "Narnia." Worst was when he looked him dead in the eye - eyes black with bitter malice, gleaming like the eyes of the devil - as he spat "the ocean." Altaïr stopped asking then, seeing as he wouldn’t get a serious answer.

"Are we there yet?" Instead of directly asking of their destination, he figures he might as well try to figure it out.

"No."

The brunette blinks. Usually such blunt responses are reserved for arguments. And even then, nothing quite so simple. Malik is known for elaborate explanations and loquacious language. Altaïr shifts in the passenger seat. Sneaking a glance at the bags behind him, the only information he can glean from their packs is that they’ll only be staying overnight.

"Will you _please_ just tell me where we’re going?"

Malik chuckles. Altaïr never begs. Stubborn novice. Said novice glances about their surroundings, trying to figure out where they’re heading. Fortunately for Malik, Altaïr can’t read a map to save his life. The arrogant man won’t admit to ever asking Malik for directions. "Natural instinct of direction," he claimed. _Natural instinct, my ass,_ Malik scoffed. His lack of any bearings beyond their home city proves to be an advantage when Malik is behind the wheel. Using unconventional routes, though making the trip a little longer, hopelessly throws Altaïr off.

A sly hand reaches for the radio controls. Malik strikes out of nowhere, not trusting the novice with his choice of music. He grins when he watches Altaïr rub at his knuckles out of the corner of his eye. The hand becomes more coy, reaching past the stick shift - Altaïr constantly ponders Malik’s sanity; who in the world willing buys a manual? Especially if they only have one arm - and letting his hand settle high up on the driver’s thigh. A warning growl doesn’t deter him, but he doesn’t make any more advances. Slowly rubbing his thumb over the material of Malik’s pants, Altaïr mentally whines.

_How much farther could this place be?_

. . .

Stopped just outside of town, Altaïr and Malik engage in an intense staring contest.

"I promise I won’t drive us off of a cliff," Malik reassures, "but I can’t let the surprise be spoiled."

Arms crossed, Altaïr breaks the heated connection, leaning against a column supporting the roof of the gas station. He puffs out his chest and sets his jaw. Altaïr is never one to pout, but he also always gets his way. And he’s stubborn. When he hears Malik finish filling up the tank of gas, he continues to ignore the dark-haired man, who turns to face Altaïr with a sigh.

"Look, I know you like being able to see where you’re going. But you’d recognize the area." Malik frowns when all Altaïr does is turn his head away. Exhaling sharply through his nose at the three-year-old he’s dealing with, he decides to play as a child likewise. Grabbing a snack from the cooler, he makes a tacit offer. It’s simple. Altaïr complies with a blindfold, and he gets all of the delicious desserts that Malik had baked for himself.

Contemplative stare shifts from the sky down to the offered treats, then sharply to the man offering them with raised eyebrows. Succumbing, Altaïr snatches the treats from Malik’s hands. He turns his back to the shorter man so he can tie the black cloth around his head. Insisting on finding his seat himself, he nearly trips over the curb before half-falling into the passenger seat. Groping the dashboard, Altaïr finds and slips on sunglasses, trying to make the best out of this unusual punishment.

Malik drives back out onto the road. In less than fifteen minutes, they have reached the town of his destination. At every intersection, Malik turns. Altaïr scowls, ears keen and nose sharp. Something isn’t right. It weighs down the air. Joyous conversation on the streets is interrupted by something other than thrumming engines. But before he can pinpoint it, the car turns again, and the unusual atmosphere slinks just behind his grasp.

Not long after, the engine dies, and Malik shoves a handful of overnight bags into his arms. The odd cast of light on his blindfold indicates the sun is low, late enough into the dusk that most are favoring their artificial lighting. Grumbling about having to be so submissive, Altaïr is dragged by the elbow into a hotel lobby. Tuned ears catch onto the light conversation explaining to the clerk the oddity that is the frowning blindfolded man. Leading the temporarily blind man to the elevator, they ascend to the requested top floor, closest to the rooftop entrance. Malik slips the room key in, and after a blink of a green light and a short buzz, they are admitted. Ensuring that the window only reveals the inner parts of the city, Malik moves to undo the blindfold.

Altaïr slaps away the hand, once he drops the stuff on the bed. He can untie the blindfold himself. His smirking boyfriend comes into view, who promptly places a brief kiss on the brunette’s lips. Malik turns to unpack.

"So this is it?" Altaïr gestures to the room. Dark brown eyes glance at Altaïr before returning to his task.

"Part of it." Malik’s vague answer dissatisfies Altaïr. With a quirked eyebrow, he decides to get answers. Seizing the shorter man, Altaïr growls into Malik’s ear.

"Perhaps whatever this surprise is can wait until morning?" he purrs. Malik melts inwardly. He regains some composition, turning around to face Altaïr. Before he can speak, Altaïr takes advantage of the open mouth and attacks with his tongue. Malik loses his balance and falls back on the bed; all according to Altaïr’s plan, for he follows after and meets Malik with heated kisses of passion.

… 

Blindfold replaced over his eyes, Altaïr tries to assess what he can of his surroundings. A constant crash interrupts the chatter of pedestrians and accents Malik’s cursing as he attempts to find a parking spot.

"Hope you’re fine walking," the dark-haired man slams the door, circling around to the back to the trunk. Opening the trunk, he nearly clocks Altaïr in the face. Altaïr growls, discarding the blindfold. He frowns at Malik’s navy blue shorts. Malik never wears anything other than utter sophistication; even at his most casual he wears pants. To see him in shorts, swim shorts nonetheless-

Malik has to literally slap Altaïr back to his senses. Dazed golden eyes stare listlessly at his shorts. Black eyebrows knit, glancing down at himself before turning. Now is _not_ the time to be staring...

"Still wanting more from last night?" he throws offhandedly, tossing a towel at Altaïr. His lack of response concerns Malik for a moment. Then he becomes annoyed.

"Come on, novice." Grabbing Altaïr’s wrist, he drags the man behind him towards the beach.

… 

His plan had been little more than an absolute failure.

"Hold _still!_ For _two_ seconds," Malik chides, reaching out to apply more aloe vera to the burned torso. A "hmph!" replies. The tanned skin burned after purposefully ignoring Malik. Hours had passed with Malik frolicking around in the vast abyss of the ocean; Altaïr was plenty content with earbuds blasting music in his ears and laying in the sun. Of course, nothing goes well whenever he ignores his boyfriend’s advice. Still Altaïr does not make his healing easy, snatching the bottle of aloe and keeping it high out of Malik’s one-handed reach.


	4. Cat Nap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who lays on the other's lap to sleep,  
> And who can't help but compare them to a sleepy kitten

It is usual for Altaïr to be absent during the mornings. His hours the rest of the day vary depending on the client. How Altaïr puts up with the inconsistency, Malik will never know.

But he knows exactly how it leaves the novice when work keeps him out beyond his bed time. Said bedtime being roughly nine o’clock. Malik takes enough time to look away from his night programs to glance at his watch.

10:49.

Raising his eyebrows, Malik becomes more and more certain that Altaïr fell asleep in some alley.

The lock on the door clicks, giving way as a strong arm slams the door to the wall. Kicking the door closed, Altaïr sets his deadly cold gaze on his boyfriend. Malik tenses, recalling times in the middle of the night when two often have a literal war. Altaïr does not take kindly to lack of sleep.

The brunette dives across the couch, stretching languidly over Malik’s lap. Eyes widened in surprise, Malik watches as Altaïr makes himself comfortable and content. Shortly after, a slight purr of a snore indicates Altaïr’s state of consciousness - or lack of it. A chuckle rumbles in his chest before the black-haired man focuses back on the screen, absentmindedly petting Altaïr’s hair.


	5. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who rescues an abandoned pet off the street,  
> And who is unprepared for the sudden adoption

Altaïr is a cat. Stalking around, lifted chin of arrogance, piercing golden eyes that catch any movement, absolute refusal of being in water- and bringing little "gifts" home. These gifts are as delightful as they sound. Once, Altaïr dragged home an interesting piece of furniture, the coffee table that clashes horribly with the couch. Another time, Malik made him sleep on the couch for bringing home completely inappropriate clothing ("I am _not_ your bellydancer!").

But when Altaïr drags in a street mutt, Malik has to draw a line.

"No way in hell-"

"Maliiik!" Altaïr whines, golden eyes begging as pathetically as the dark brown eyes of the mutt.

"_No._" Malik repeats, his voice dropping to a low warning tone. Two pairs of begging eyes continues. The mutt goes so far as to wiggle closer, ears drooping, tail wagging, nose nuzzling at Malik’s leg. A mix of wolfish breeds - likely a Shepherd of sorts - the light grey, brown, and black spots make the greasy fur seem all the more filthy. Disgusted, Malik steps back before the mutt licks his leg.

"Where did you get him?" Malik returns to the kitchen, dog trotting behind him; tail swishing side to side, tongue hanging out, and he would swear the mutt bares a wolfish grin. Altaïr bounds just as eagerly.

"He followed me home. I tried calling him off, but he kept following. Reminded me of you, actually, constantly dogging me on everything," Altaïr lists off his adventure as he lowers himself to the mutt’s level. A small chuckle escapes Altaïr’s lips as the mutt licks at his cheeks. A strange twinge catches in Malik’s chest as the dog barrels Altaïr over, causing him to fall flat on his back, and continues to attack the man with animal kisses. Altaïr laughs, affectionately petting and nuzzling the mutt in return.

It’s when Altaïr kisses the dog between the ears in return that causes Malik to snap. Storming over, Malik’s approach startles the mutt off of Altaïr’s chest. Stupid dog hops close to the dark-haired man, wanting to greet him. Malik doesn’t give the mutt a chance, holding his snout closed and away as he crushes his lips to Altaïr’s. Letting go of the mutt, Malik’s hand supports him kneeling over his boyfriend, who lifts his hands to settle at his waist.

"_You_" Malik growls at Altaïr, "take full responsibility over this _mutt._ Understood _novice?_" Sporting a cheeky grin, Altaïr summons the dog to him again with a whistle. Before Malik can sit up, the mutt slobbers all over his face.

"Arg! And keep him on a leash. And trained too. Probably needs to go to the vet for fleas, medication, neutering…" As the dark-haired man stalks back to the kitchen, Altaïr runs off. Returning from fetching one of Malik’s old scarfs, he ties it around the mutt’s neck in a makeshift collar. As he does, he takes note of the mutt’s gender.

"Amira," Altaïr demands the dog’s name.

"Ohhh no. You are _not-_"

"Come on, Princess." With a whistle, Altaïr and the literal female dog trot out the door. Malik pinches the bridge of his nose. Then he realizes that the dog made off with his favorite scarf. Snatching keys, Malik darts out after the two scruffy mutts with growls and shouts.


	6. Treats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who is dragged along on a walk in the park,  
> And who buys them both ice cream

Not long after Altaïr adopted the stupid mutt, the novice actually kept with his responsibilities. Every morning he could, he would walk the dog. If not, Malik would have to let it free on the back porch with Altaïr’s word that he’d clean whatever mess she left. Those days, Altaïr would return from work, grab the leash, and walk right back out with Amira in tow.

The weekends are more lenient. Malik blinks awake Saturday morning, his first sight being a delightfully handsome sleep-tousled boyfriend. The next sight is the only-slightly-better-managed mangy fur of the mutt. _Some princess,_ Malik grunts, shoving her off the bed. At this, she whines, which immediately registers in Altaïr’s sleep-numb ears. More often than not, Malik is forced to resort to ice cubes down Altaïr’s shorts to wake him up, and even then he takes his own sweet time. Amira slinks back when Malik openly growls.

"What?" Altaïr’s innocent comment is belied by a knowing smirk. "Want to go for a morning walk?" His voice raises in pitch to entice the mutt, who is already trotting to the door. Malik scowls at the swishing tail. _I’m stuck with arrogant mutts,_ he muses, rubbing his eyes. Quickly changing into some decent clothes, he heads out to make breakfast. If only dogs could understand human body language, then the "Princess" would understand the roll of Malik’s eyes.

Malik didn’t intend for his route to the kitchen to take an unintended detour. 

With the leash in one hand, Malik’s hand in the other, Altaïr heads for the door. Somehow he manages to get the door unlocked, open, and locked again before Malik can even question why they’re out.

"Altaïr, where are we going?" Malik walks solemnly alongside Altaïr, resigned to his fate. They had only just gotten dressed, what could he possibly want to do?

"For a walk."

Of course.

…

By the time noon approached, Malik had been dragged around more than he anticipated.   
They stopped and got a breakfast coffee and donut at a corner shop, and went to the dog park and let Amira run free. Altaïr was particularly overprotective of both of his loves when a lady approached them with a large doberman; Malik found the woman’s conversation a pleasant turn from the usual bickering with Altaïr, and the doberman either seemed too aggressive or too flirty with Amira. Finally, they end up with sandwiches on a park bench. 

Amira’s leash catches around Malik’s legs for the uptenth time, starting from where it’s tied to the bench and masterfully weaving through two legs of the bench and Malik’s legs. Dark brown eyes gaze up lovingly from the mutt, and Malik actually doesn’t feel it in him to shove her away. Of course, her cute begging ploy was only to snatch his sandwich. Her little trot as far away from the bench is far too sassy, tail flicking to and fro, held up with an air of arrogant accomplishment. Malik abruptly stands, and is just as quickly pulled back down before he can trip on the leash.

"Here," Altaïr offers his sandwich, which Malik refuses since he doesn’t care for the excessive amount of condiments. With a frown, Altaïr gets up, taking all the wrappers and napkins and simply disappearing around the bend. Trying to peek over the trimmed hedges does no good. Malik refuses to pout, but his expression turns sour. He would be perfectly fine up and walking away to follow Altaïr - or to leave him to walk home alone - if it weren’t for-

The Princess slinks back over, wary of Malik but curious about her master’s disappearance. A short whine communicates her displeasure. Ruffling the fur between her ears, Malik begrudgingly sympathizes with the mutt.

"He’ll be back, mutt," he soothes. That earns him a wagging tail and a lick on the back of his hand. Wiping his hand on his pants, he realizes neither him nor the mutt have to suffer any longer. Almost with a skip in his step, Altaïr hurries back to sit with Malik at the bench. His unspoken question regarding Altaïr’s whereabouts is answered when an ice cream cone is passed over to him. Large scoops of mint chocolate chip ice cream already start to drip onto Malik’s hand. Demanding a fresh napkin from Altaïr, Malik accepts the dessert. Altaïr laps at his quickly diminishing peanut butter ice cream, nipping bites of cone as he devours his treat. Malik rolls his eyes.

"You eat as just as obnoxiously as the- _filthy mutt!_" Malik exclaims as the devilish dog nudges the cone out of the vulnerable single hand with her snout, sending it to the dirt and therefore making it hers. Heat boils in Malik’s blood, frustration flushing his cheeks.

"You couldn’t have gone for Altaïr’s could you? You _had_ to take _my_ ice cream. What, you needed to make sure to end my stolen meal with my stolen dessert?" Malik goes off on Amira, standing and all but sending earthquakes through the ground with his pacing. 

"And you Altaïr," the deadly rage of his boyfriend turns on himself, "You better train this dog, or send her to obedience school, because I will _not_ tolerate a literal bitch like this!" Malik’s rant flies over Altaïr’s head as he continues to rant at the dog, asking why she didn’t want Altaïr’s much more appealing peanut butter flavored ice cream. Sensing something in the dog’s stance, Altaïr feels that he and Amira are on the same page. 

Untying the leash, Altaïr lets Amira topple a stunned Malik and silence him with a barrage of dog kisses. He supposes the two could get along if Malik wasn’t so stubborn and set on hating the Princess.

When Malik cries for help, all Altaïr does is leave the mutt for him to deal with, throwing a smirk over his shoulder and pocketing the leash.


	7. Memes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who tries to send the other memes or texts,  
> And who shuts their phone off so they don't get in trouble at work

He wouldn’t call it a job so much as he would call it a hobby. In one wing of library, he is surrounded - absorbed, rather - by the words of ancient minds bound in ancient leather with fading text. Classics of ancestors’ great stories and gothic literature. One would raise an eyebrow when he told them he simply died to read gothic literature. Or kill for it. But he tends to stay to the classics nonetheless.

Other sections of the grand public library are just as respectable. Often times he passes a gaggle of scruffy-haired, freckled nerds complete with braces and glasses heading towards the fantasy sections. Respectable men and women in sharp suits peruse the nonfiction and business stats. Even little children are decent, patient mothers keeping them tame enough to listen to three-words-per-page picture books. All the wings have their place, and each wing their books and their people, and Malik finds himself enjoying them all.

Except for when he picks up the new book to shelf, a white chess piece in a dark background seems to glare down on him. The author’s name sets his blood to a boil. Pursing his lips, Malik has half a mind to leave the book there. Never once does he even think of burning a book, but this particular one makes him reconsider. Storming silently over to the young adult fiction area, he scans the shelves for its proper place. As much as he’d rather the whole series find its call number to be TRASH CAN, he has his duty as a library volunteer. 

Leave it to fate to twist a knife in his back. His first warnings are high-pitched giggles and excited whispers. Stealing himself a glance around the corner, his worst fear manifests before him. The book in his hands is the very calling to a trio of teenage girls - a demon-summoning talisman. Focusing himself, he composes his expression, pacing dignified to where he needs to be. Muttering a polite "excuse me," Malik tries to hide the spine of the book with his fingers as he lifts it to the higher shelf.

"Ooh is that the latest Twilight novel?" one girl pipes up, the other two whispering even faster: _Something something Edward Cullen is so much hotter in the movies la-de-dah._ Malik rolls his eyes before turning around.

"It is," he simply replies, knowing he can only allow two words in a polite tone before a rant spills from his lips.

"Can we see it?" Malik hands the girl the novel - flinching back quickly as if it burns him - and the three immediately jump to the back cover to read the summary. Shoving his hand in his pocket, Malik starts to leave, intending to end his library day short.

"Excuse me-" _Damn,_ Malik curses to himself. "Have you read this? Can you tell us more about it?" Glancing over his shoulder, he notes the excited nods of the trio, pretty sure he just heard one of them comparing the hotness of the characters to himself. Inwardly he shudders violently, but outwardly he just shakes his head.

"I wish I could tell you more about it... but I have not - and likely will not - succumb to this form of self-inflicted torture." The words slipped off his tongue faster than he can catch them. But he can’t suppose it’s too terrible to witness and enjoy the looks of absolute horror on the girl’s faces. One looks like she’s going to faint; another looks pitiful, as if Malik doesn’t know what he’s missing; the one who asked for the book seems in just as much rage as Malik.

"I can’t believe you!" She whisper-yells harshly. From the sitting area comes a chorus of harsh shushing. Turning her glare back onto Malik, she continues, "I bet you’re one of those haters. This is a true love story, the greatest piece of literature on this planet!" Malik raises his eyebrow at that comment. She is quick to defend herself. "It is! Better than that pathetic series with the wrong vampires and werewolves," she sniffs, crossing her arms and turning up her chin. The other two girls snicker, well aware of where she’s going.

"Oh? And what series is any more pathetic than that sorry excuse of a mash of letters you call good literature? Or were you indirectly referring to your own subtle hate for the Twilight series itself?" Again, the girls gasp in horror. Malik stalks off, done with the whole situation.

"Stupid Potterhead."

And instead of getting riled backup, Malik quietly replies, "Always."

…

The security of his apartment is only second to the comfort of the library. This retreat to his miniature library is all close and personal, and in a way is a decent exchange. Still, not quite as extensive.

A buzz in his pocket alerts him of a reply. He had texted Altaïr in a furious rant, and since then Altaïr has tried to calm him down. And if that means Altaïr has to sneak to read Malik’s texts, then so be it.

He wouldn’t call it a job so much as a chore. But Altaïr gets money for it, unlike Malik’s volunteer work. In his current situation, however, with the constant stream of derogatory memes against Stephenie Meyer, he is in threat of losing his job. With a sigh, he interrupts Malik in the middle of the rant, warning that he can’t talk. He shuts off his phone just as Malik yells at him not to leave him.


	8. Laundry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who loses their jacket in their shared laundry,  
> And who will never give it back

Frowning, Altaïr picks up a foreign piece of clothing from his closet. A navy blue blazer hangs snug on a hanger. Since when did he own this? And it looks much too small. He could have sworn Malik prohibited him from buying any more hoodies or jackets. But a blazer?

Unbuttoning the blazer, he brings it with him to the bathroom mirror. Glares reflect off of the mirror onto the blazer. It definitely isn’t his, but it wouldn’t hurt to try it on. For all he knows it could be-

It hits him then, as the blazer is slipped on his right side, and the folded sleeve of the left stops his arm short. Scowling once again, Altaïr examines the blazer, wondering why in the world his boyfriend left it here. First of all, he wouldn’t just leave it in Altaïr’s room. Second, Malik wouldn’t forget his favorite jacket. Despite the fact that it isn’t custom tailored to his missing left arm, the shorter man absolutely adores the color, style, and how good it looks on himself. Of course, Altaïr has to give his boyfriend some credit to his sense of style. It’s more than Altaïr has, anyway. He had half a mind to burn all of Malik’s clothes because he looks unfairly too damn _hot._ This fact aside, Altaïr wouldn’t have any reason to possess Malik’s jacket other than to hold it hostage.

A curious idea pops into existence. Hesitantly, Altaïr raises the blazer to his nose. With a large inhale, Altaïr sighs, eyelids threatening to flutter closed. The rich scent of Malik combined with the vague hints of herbs, mint, and dust sends Altaïr’s senses on hyperawareness. Despite being prissy about cleanliness, the musk of his hobby of gardening various plants ("It’s for my botany and medicinal studies - something that clearly goes over your walnut brain") clings to his most frequently worn articles of clothing. Imbibing the smell, the brunette smirks into the blazer, flushing at the thought of acting like a teenage girl. 

_Ohh, Malik is never getting his blazer back._


	9. Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who falls off the couch and hurts themselves,  
> And who is torn between apologizing and laughing

Their lives had in some ways changed drastically, in others it was no different. Living together gave Malik more chances to straighten out his novice. For Altaïr, it gave him more chances to loosen up Malik. Both men being stubborn, their attempts are all in vain.

Altaïr would argue otherwise.

Laying sprawled on the couch, he grins when Malik frowns down at him. He knows that Malik hates whenever he takes all of the sitting room. Malik crosses his arm across his chest and frowns, silently demanding Altaïr to move. Sitting up, Altaïr reaches and pulls his boyfriend right into his lap. Malik struggles for only a short second before succumbing. Of course, he is more malleable when firm and eager lips are pressed to his own.

Not one to be outshone, Malik shoves Altaïr back, his head missing the pillow and hitting the arm of the couch with a thud. Neither care as they resume their passionate make out. 

As with their standing in the two-person household, they constantly fight for dominance, pressing deeper and deeper into the kiss until their lips bruise and nearly bleed. Gripping Malik’s shoulders, Altaïr rolls himself over and on top of Malik. With his new position, he crushes the dark-haired man. 

Chests pressed together, Altaïr can feel the rapid beat of Malik’s heart matching his own, a moan rumbling low in Malik’s chest. Altaïr takes this as an invitation. Slipping his tongue between Malik’s lips earns him another low noise, this time more of a desperate growl. Five fingers claw at his back as he dominates over Malik. 

As much as he loves receiving Altaïr’s unabashed passion and affection, he finds himself too often the submissive one, however reluctant he may be. 

He doesn’t know why he thinks it is a good idea, considering it was difficult for Altaïr with two good arms. How in the world does he think he could do it with one? Perhaps it is because Malik for once didn’t quite think it through. All he knows is that he wants to turn the tables. But as he attempts to make the same swift maneuver Altaïr pulled off, he doesn’t mean to make it literal. Instead of rolling over, Altaïr rolled off, crashing into the pathetic coffee table. The coffee table takes the brunt of the impact and flips onto its side and falling onto Altaïr. A loud thud resounds as the wood connects with Altaïr forehead. 

Malik restrains his amusement, watching a pouty Altaïr shove the table away. At the commotion, Altaïr’s mutt trots into the room, concern etched in her dog-ish expression as she calms Altaïr with her kisses. The attempt is in vain, for her master swats Amira away after she managed to lick his eye. About to burst, Malik explodes into laughter. It’s the combination of the situation; the clumsiness, the damsel-in-distress look on his boyfriend’s face, the Princess saving the prince - all of this proves to be too much for Malik. His sides split and he falls back on the couch in pain and laughter.

He refuses to stop even when Altaïr yanks a pillow from under his head and starts beating him with it.


End file.
